


Touch of Death

by blueutopian



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:30:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueutopian/pseuds/blueutopian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Returning home after two years, Stiles come back to Beacon Hill to investigate a series of bizarre murders.</p><p>Any comments would be welcome!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Homecoming

As Stiles drove through Beacon Town, he found that Beacon Hills had not changed much in his absence of two years. Some of the stores have changed owners since but it looked pretty much the same. Stiles gave a yawn. He had been driving for the past six hours without rest and his body was crying for rest.

 

As he drove down the streets of his old neighborhood to his childhood home, he saw a figure sitting in the front porch. Stiles could not help but smile at the familiar scene. Whenever he returned home from college, he would always find his dad, the Sheriff, in his worn uniform sitting in the same place with a book. As Stiles parked his car in the driveway and got out of the car, he was subjected to one of his dad's crushing hugs.

 

As he was released from his dad's arms, he observed that his dad's hair was greying around his temples.

 

“You look good, dad.” Stiles said.

“Welcome home, son. Changed the sheets. Go up and unpack. Dinner would be ready in one hour's time. You ok with pizza?”

 

Stiles sighed at the mention of pizza. Before he could start to nag his dad about Healthy Eating, the Sheriff held out his hand.

 

“Before you get your knickers in a bunch, the pizza's from Angelo. They use olive oil and their pizza is thin-crusted. Now shoo and go upstairs.” The Sheriff made a movement with his hands.

 

Grabbing his bags, Stiles headed upstairs to his childhood room. His room was exactly as Stiles have left it two years ago. Stiles inhaled the faint scent of lavender and took in his collection of Star Wars and Indiana Jones poster. He felt truly relzed for the first time in the past year or so.

 

Stiles secretly grinned like the five year boy he was when he thought of his job.

 

To the outside world, Stiles was part of the research division of Hoffman Institute. His duties was to collect and study folklore throughout the globe. Truth be told, Stiles never left the supernatural world. The Hoffman institute was a supernatural intelligence agency, investigating and dealing with superatural phenomenon. Stiles' cover allowed him to travel under the guise of collecting folklore for the institute.

 

Yeah, Stiles is totally James Bond of the magical underworld. Minus the Bond girls and the martini, stirred not shaken. Stiles was more of a Gin and Tonic guy.

 

He told his dad that he came back for a vacation for a week. Stiles was in fact investigating a series of bizzare murders in Beacon Hills. Stiles groaned as he propped his tired body up from the bed.

 

As he settled behind his study desk, he pulled up a manila folder. The agency gave him the docket before he left Boston. Protocol dictated that he was caught up on the information before he do the whole Men in Black thing.

 

Two murder victims was found within a span of one week. What connects the two cases was the missing hands. Stiles' brows arched at that detail. Now, it could jolly well be some ritual of a cult trying to summon the apocalypse-of-the-week. But Stiles would be bluffing if that was the more common explaination of the scenario. More often than not, the police was simply looking for a serial killer with a fetish for hand momentos.

 

Still, it would be satisfying to nail the son of a bitch, supernatural or not. 

 

Stiles saw the docket also contained a report of a fatal argument two days ago. Apparently, Andrew Federson, a security guard, shot an Antoine LeMere fatally. It seemed that there was another perpetrator. Federson was left with a broken neck a few feet away from LeMere. Stiles had no memory of Federson but he remembered LeMere. He was one year behind Stiles and was one of Jackson's douchey friends. He always gave out the creepy vibe. Stiles snorted at the creepy stalker trenchcoat LeMere was dressed in. Turns out Stiles was right.

 

As Stiles puzzled over why the agency put in the case, he saw the belongings retrieved from LeMere. LeMere had a dagger and a whistle on him when he died. Both seemed gold plated.

 

As Stiles examined the photo of the two items, he could make out faint inscriptions of magical writing. The dagger was probably an athame, a knife used in magic ritual. But the purpose of the whistle was lost on Stiles. Magic was a wily subject and magicians were paranoid enough to code their inscriptions with junk symbols.

 

As Stiles went through the details of the three cases and jotted down his plans, his eyelids grew heavy and Stiles went to sleep.

 

Stiles woke up to a yell from his dad.“Dinner's ready” The Sheriff's voice echoed up the stairwells. Still feeling a bit dazed from the nap, Stiles quickly slipped the reports and photos into his drawer and made his way to the kitchen.

 

When he went down the stairs, Stiles could make out the mouthwatering combintaion of pizza. His rumbling stomach spurred Stiles to hasten his footsteps before his dad got all of the delicious pizza. 

 

Then, he saw Derek Hale sitting at the kitchen's table with his dad, taking bites of a slice of pizza.

 

"Dad, why is Derek here? And wearing a uniform? And I'm pretty sure you should be arresting him for impersonating law enforcement?" Stiles scowled at Derek. Stiles can't beleive he scowled. Stiles is 99.99% sure that he has now regressed back when he was sixteen.

 

"You lost your touch, son. Guess being stuck in antiques all day have made your humor as stale. Dereks's been working under me for a whole year.”

 

“In fact,” Stiles' dad continued, slapping Derek on the shoulder “Derek is my right-hand man in the police department.” Stiles widened his eyes at the Sheriff's gesture. He knew the shoulder slapping thing was only reserved for close family friends. No way on earth is Derek a close friend of his dad.

 

When Derek gave Stiles a look that says I'm-a-innocent-person , Stiles felt a sudden need to strangle something. Top of the list would be Derek Hale's neck. At this very moment, Stiles wondered if he was sucked into some version of the Twilight Zone.

 

"I thought you knew? Seeing how close you and Derek was during high school and college, I though you would not be surprised." the Sheriff said in between bites.

 

Stiles bit back a reply of denial of his relationship with Derek. Stiles did spend an unhealthy amount of time with Derek. It got so bad in college that the Sheriff had mentioned doing the Talk With Shotguns with Derek several times. 

 

He ate the rest of his dinner in relative silence as he listened closely to the conversation between the Sheriff and Derek. Stiles knew that his dad would never talk about work on the dinner table. Still, the conversation was never stilted and there was a couple of inside jokes between the Sheriff and Derek. And the way Derek moved in the kitchen suggested that he was as familiar with the house as Stiles.

 

Much as Stiles hate to admit, Derek seems a changed man. His mannerism was relaxed, so different from the sullen and aggressive alpha from his teens.The easy smile playing on Derek's lips was simply dazzling. 

 

And he looked absolutely delicious in his uniform as Stiles' eyes went up and down Derek's body . Stiles bit his lips unconsciously at the thought. 

 

As if sensing his dirty thought, Derek suddenly looked at Stiles and gave a knowing smirk. Stiles immediately dropped his head and focused on the pizza slice.

 

Damn alpha and their sense of smell.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles waited until the light under his father's room went out before he slipped into a black sweater and jeans. Taking his usual tools in a backpack, he slipped out of the window ledge and descended slowly down the wall using a ladder.

 

LeMere's house was not his first choice to investigate but Stiles was still thinking of a way into the morgue. While he had means to impersonate a law enforcement officer, the chance of meeting a friend was something Stiles could not risk right now.

 

According to the docket, LeMere lived near the alleyway in which his body was found. As Stiles pulled up near the indicated address, he could not help but have a Bad Feeling. LeMere's building was dilapidated to say the least. And judging by the unsavory people going in and out, it was definitely not the kind of apartment a wealthy kid would choose to live in.

 

Well, Derek was rolling in money and he still lived in an abandoned subway station, Stiles thought. At least, he wouldn't have to deal with nosy security guards.

 

Stiles timed his entrance into the building with another person who seemed to know the code to the main door. As he tried to fake non nonchalance, the person didn't even gave a second glance. He just punched in the code and entered in with Stiles following behind.

 

LeMere lived in the top floor. As Stiled stepped out of the lift, he was able to locate the apartment door. Stiles snapped on his leather gloves and tried the door. No surprise there that it was locked. Stiles glanced around to make sure that there was no camera or witnesses before he produced what seemed to be a ballpoint pen.

 

Perks of being a spook was the devices that they provided on field mission. This particular toy was called Superthief. The guy in the Engineering Division (which Stiles has dubbed Spengler for his fondness for eating Snickers and wearing thick glasses) explained it functions like a compact snap gun. All Stiles got away from the explanation was to insert the device into any lock for it to do its magic. Stiles heard a click that indicated the door was unlocked before letting himself in.

 

Looking at the contents of the room, Stiles would have to say that LeMere's decoration sense was more Hannibal Lecter than Martha Stewart. The living room's wall was decorated with at least a dozen of stuffed animal heads. The windows were boarded up by what seems to be cartons.

 

LeMere's creepy stalker status has officially reached def-con one.

 

Stiles's head jerked up to the sound of what seems to be shuffling feet above the apartment. As soon as Stiles heard it, the sound was gone. Stiles shrugged. Not the first time he imagined a sound in a creepy place.

 

Stiles spotted what seemed to be a laptop on the coffee table. Stiles was no Danny but he knows a trick or two. Stiles punched a fist up in the air when he finally unlocked the contents of LeMere's computer. Stiles 1 LeMere 0

 

LeMere seemed to have a great interest in the occult from his folders. He practically have downloaded every imaginable occult books available. Stiles could spot titles from Crowley, Waites and a number of famous occultist. There were also at least ten different versions of the "true" Necronomicon.

 

LeMere had also kept his email logged on. As Stiles were glancing through the correspondences LeMere had and his internet activity, he heard the weird noise above his head again. Swiftly plugging in a flash drive to download the contents of LeMere's emails and files, Stiles examined the ceiling closely. He was at the top floor and while the sounds may be from the rooftop, one could never be sure.

 

Stiles could make out a faint outline of a panel jutting out in the ceiling. He quickly pulled a nearby ladder and tapped on the panel. The panel sprang down to reveal stairs leading upwards. Stiles slowly drew out his gun and started the ascend. The stairs groaned under Stiles' weight and led to a small room.

 

A gold-plated statue of a skull surrounded by several large pillar candles on stands dominates the center of the room. The floor is inscribed with a circle, crisscrossed by lines and framed by what appear to be magical symbols. Several small statues stand on marble pillars throughout the room, and a large tome sits on a fine teak podium. Along one wall is a huge bookshelf stuffed with books, papers, and ancient-looking tomes.

 

Without warning, the strange sounds become audible once again, originating from points all around Stiles. Dozens of small creatures are scuttling across the floor in Stiles' direction. At first glance, they look like enormous spiders. As they draw nearer, however, Stiles recognize them as hands— severed human hands—crawling across the floor on their own.

 

Stiles reached within his body and called out his magic. As energy surged through his body and pooled around his right hand, he shaped the energy into the familiar shape of a chain. Stiles swung the eldritch chain with practiced ease towards the swarm of moving severed hands. The force of the swing flung those hand creatures across the room where they lie lifeless.

 

The creatures moved rapidly around Stiles. With a yelp, Stiles found a few of them digging deep into Stiles, destroying Stiles' clothes at the same time.

 

“Hey, that's merino wool.” Stiles quipped before he swung his weapon, destroying a few more enemies in the process. The swarm was relentless in their attack as they continued to claw at Stiles. The creatures suddenly grasped at Stiles in a coordinated attack an Stiles was swept off his feet and he felt his body impact heavily on the hardwood floor.

 

As the severed hands moved in for the kill, Stiles chanted and inscribed symbols quickly into the floor. When he traced the last symbol, the symbols glowed before bursting into purplish flames. Stiles could smell ash as the remaining hands starts to burn.

 

Grimacing, Stiles examined himself. His clothes was torn and there was a deep gash in his right leg. Placing a hand on the gash, he channeled energy and in a flash, the wound had closed up. The only evidence was the bloody hole. The rest of the wounds were minor in comparison. Stiles would have to heal himself in the morning as most of his magic was drained.

 

Stiles examined the room of its content. The tome was filled with what seems to be blueprints. Thanks heavens LeMere didn't seem to be a practicing mage. He seemed to be a ritualist instead of being able to tap into magical energies.

 

Using rituals without the Gift was like trying to paint while blindfolded. A ritualist could only follow the steps of whatever grimoire they have discovered closely. The consequences of what would result from the ritual may not be what the ritualist had in mind.

 

In the case of LeMere, he seemed interested in the construction of necromantic creatures. The hand creatures was apparently step one of his experimentation.

 

As Stiles looked at the next step of LeMere's plan, he uttered a curse. LeMere's next plan was for what seemed to be a construct made from corpses. There were no indication of whether there was any success.

 

Stiles quickly took the journal. He would have to look at it more closely at home. He took the flash drive from the laptop and got out of the apartment. He made sure that no one noticed his torn and bloodied clothes before he headed to the alleyway where he had parked his car.

 

As he headed to the alleyway behind LeMere's building, he took out his burner phone and texted the agency. They needed to know that there were supernatural activity in the area. He reported the battle he had with those creatures. If they found his blood in the scene, the agency would make sure that the lab report would be missing, making it impossible to pin Stiles down.

 

He placed an anonymous phone call to the police station before tossed the phone in the trash.

 

Halfway home, Stiles quickly stripped off his clothes and dropped them in a nearby dumpster. Feeling very naked, he quickly climbed back up his room. The effort made his body ached. Stiles dressed his wounds before he sank in his bed, dead to the world.

 

XXX

 

Two years ago

 

The pack was seperated and there were no way to hide. A pack of rogue werewolves known as Black Spirals have come to Beacon Hill. Their intent was not to conquer territory. Their goal was to pillage and destroy their own kind. Even Derek was no match for one of them. Their werewolf form was larger than Derek's own form and their claws seems to drip with an unholy green ichor.

 

Now Stiles was the only barrier between Derek's unconscious body and the large creature towering above them. Derek's wounds was oozing green liquid and seem to be closing slowly.

 

The white pupils of the Black Spiral glowed in the pale moonlight. Grinning with teeth that was protruding out of its mouth due to sheer size, the Black Spiral flung one of its clawed hands towards Stiles. Stiles tried to dodge but the werewolf was too fast.

 

Stiles, on instinct, stretched out one of his hand in an useless attempt to fend off the werewolf. Stiles could only crouch beside Derek, closed his eyes and prayed for a quick end.

 

Heart pumping, Stiles felt something click and soon he felt fires licking up his vein. It was as if he had an unhealthy amount of sugar in him and he was literally throbbing with energy begging to be released. By pure instinct, Stiles gave a mental push and directed all the pent-up energy towards the creature.

 

Knocked by the sudden burst of energy from Stiles' outstretched hand, the werewolf could only scream as purple fire starts to lick at its limbs. Soon, the werewolf was engulfed in the violet flames that matched those in Stiles' eyes.

 

As the werewolf twisted and changed back to human form, Stiles paused for a while. But the pull of the energy was too much. The high Stiles felt was like a drug.

 

So, once again, Stiles poured his deadly flames onto the werewolf. He felt a ticklish of a laugh. It felt so good, seeing someone squirm. Stiles watched as the flames reduced the werewolf to mere ashes. As the ashes was scattered with a sudden wind, Stiles felt his world go black and he went unconscious.

 

XXX

 

Stiles felt his bruised body slam into the wall. As he opened his eyes, he saw the glowing red eyes of a wolfed out Derek.

 

"What the hell were you doing in a murder victim's home, Stilinski? "

 

As Stiles struggled to think of a plausible reason, Derek snarled, " Don't bother with lying, Stiles. I could smell your scent in the apartment."

 

Once Stiles would be scared witless by being pinned down by an angry wolf. But he was no longer little red riding hood. Stiles is the huntsman now.

 

Matching Derek's red eyes, Stiles eyes glowed with a unnatural pale purple while a mist of energy surrounded him.

 

"You wanna try me, Derek? Remember what happened the last time someone tried that?" Stiles added a flintiness in his voice.

 

"My territory, my rules." Derek growled. "I'm the alpha of Beacon Hills. The guy had a million occult books and an altar. A child could see that he was practicing magic of some sort. You know everything supernatural goes through me. No exceptions."

 

"You don't control me , Derek. I'm not your pack. Never have been. Never will be." Stiles retorted. He knew he had gone too far when he saw a glint of hurt in Derek's eyes. He had changed back to his human form.

 

Derek glared at Stiles before heading out of the window with angry steps. As he was about to climb out the window, Stiles grabbed Derek's hand.

 

"Look. You want to keep peace in Beacon Hill and I plan to help you keep it that way. Maybe we can work out an arrangement?” Stiles offered.

 

Derek blinked and moved to sit on a chair.

 

“ I … need access to the morgue. There's some methods I can use to get information from LeMere but I could only do it tomorrow.”

 

Derek stared at Stiles' with distrusting eyes. Stiles knew Derek hated magic. Thought they were a shifty sort. Derek made a grunt of assent.

 

“Good, I'll meet you at the morgue at noon then.” Stiles stood up and made a shooing gesture. In the pale moonlight, Stiles' battle wounds was plain for Derek to see. Uncaring, Stiles turned and gingerly eased himself in bed, his wounds sending pricks of pain upon contact with the bed.

 

Stiles could still feel Derek's stare boring through the back of his skull.

 

“God. Two years and you're still totally a creeper wolf.” Stiles exclaimed.

 

Suddenly, Derek got up from the chair and settled in the bed. Without saying a word, Derek placed his palm onto Stiles' shoulder. The aching pain in Stiles swiftly subsided. The long day caught up with Stiles and he slipped into sleep.

 

In the morning, Stiles sleepily nuzzled at the warmth wrapped around him. There was a faint scent of leather before he realized that his head was lying on Derek's chest. Their legs were tangled up in their sleep and the faint heat of Derek's legs sent a thrill up Stiles' spine.

 

Stiles rapidly untangled himself from Derek and sat up on the bed. To his surprise, there were none of the pain from last night. As he glanced down, he saw that his wounds have completely healed overnight.

 

Derek looked at Stiles with half open eyes. The expression was soft and unguarded. Stiles felt himself edging closer to Derek, tipping his head slightly down. As Stiles felt Derek's warm breath on his cheek, he heard Scott's yell outside his window.

 

“Stiles!”

 

Stiles pulled away from Derek with a jerk. Before his blush could reach his cheek, Stiles put on fresh clothes and ran down to meet Scott.


	3. Chapter 3 - WIP

As Stiles reached the bottom of the stairs, he found himself in a headlock by Scott. As Scott released him, Stiles gave Scott a playful shove while rubbing his neck.

“That hurts, you idiot.”

Scott grinned as he held out his arms. Stiles returned the grin as he moved forward to hug Scott.

“Brought breakfast.” Scott picked up two paper bags and toss one at Stiles.

“Jelly doughnuts?” Stiles peered inside the bag and made short work of the first doughnut. Moving into the kitchen, he worked the coffee machine and poured out two mugs.

Scott gave a tentative sniff. “You reek of Derek, man.” he said simply.

“Still working at the veterinary clinic with Deaton?” Stiles pretended not to hear the last comment. Scott gave him a stare and nodded.

As Scott regaled Stiles with tales of his veterinary practice, Scott glanced at his watch.

“Need to go back to the clinic? You gonna be at the pack meeting the day after?”

As Stiles gave a non-committal shrug, Scott pleaded with puppy eyes, “at least come for dinner tonight. Allison is dying to meet you. Please swear you would come? Allison made me promise to make sure or she would use the crossbow on me.”

“God, you're so whipped.” Stiles moaned.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Eight. Don't be late.” Scott let himself out of the door after Stiles nodded.

XXX

At a quarter to twelve, Stiles could hear the honk of the Camaro. As he entered the car, Derek gave him a pointed look. Wordlessly, Derek handed a cup of coffee to Stiles. As Stiles drank the heady sugary concoction of cinnamon , milk and coffee that was his favorite drink, he patted Derek's shoulders with a “thanks, sourwolf”.

Derek gave him a pointed stare before starting the car.

“Glad to know you are still openly displaying your psychotic inner child.” was Stiles' response.

As a child, Stiles was always freaked out whenever he went to find his father in the morgue. Though small, the ancient structure was imposing. But there's always a sense of sadness about its old facade and decay and despair seems to pervade the very stones of the building.

A small sign above the button reads “Press for Service” There is a video camera mounted above the walkway.

“Your house,” Stiles pointed out to Derek “should learn something from this if it wants to achieve its ambition of being the most haunted place in Beacon Hill. Well, at least second to the Tolstoff's estate.”

Derek gave an irritated noise. “We've renovated the Hale manor. And my house is not haunted.”

Derek lowered his head as he continued, “Come by the house the day after tomorrow and see for yourself.”

Stiles let the invitation sank in. Before he could say anything, Derek left the car and pressed the button. A moment later, Derek held out the door, motioning Stiles to enter first.

The state of disarray was worse than what Stiles remembered. The hallway was poorly lit and dingy. It's obvious the cleaning crew doesn't come here anymore.

Derek shrugged. “They have a new facility across town. It's not 100% completed yet but most of the things have been shifted there.”

An elderly man wearing a lab coat appears at the end of the hall. On the pocket of his coat is a tag reading “Dr John Baker.” Stiles did not remember of the man the last time he was in time. He looked displeased .

“Deputy, I told you multiple times I am still working in the report and it would contain all the details. I dislike these visitations. It intrudes and delays my work.” As he talks, he led Stiles and Derek into the forensic room.

The forensics room is dimly lit and smells of formaldehyde and cleaning chemicals. Quiet classical music fills the room, echoing the tiles. Lockers for storing corpses line one wall. A bank of video monitors on a table shows the front door, a block of offices, and the hallway that leads to this room. The images reveal no personnel other than Dr. Baker in the building. LeMere's body was lying on one of the examination tables, covered by a sheet.

Upon entering the room, Dr Baker switches off the music and turned to them. “Now what do you want to know?” he asks.

“Could we step outside to talk, doctor?” Derek pleaded unconvincingly. “Feeling a bit down today and the smell is making it worse.”

Dr Baker shook his head and Stiles could make out a flash of gold below the shirt. As he looked closely, ignoring the doctor's reply, he could make out a whistle-like shape.

'Say, doctor.” Stiles interrupted. “ That's an interesting pendant you have right there. Mind if we take a look? ”

The doctor was stunned for a moment. Before anyone could react, he took out a gold whistle and blew into it. A shrill noise emerged followed by a banging noise. Out of the foot locker stumbled out a humanoid figure.

 

Under the yellowish light, Stiles could make out the mismatched body parts that were stitched together using metal staples and wires.

 

Before Stiles could even react, the golem smashed its fists into Stiles' body. The blow sent Stiles flying a good distance. As Stiles speaks word of power, the worst of the wound closes off.

 

Stiles feel his body surge with magic and a bolt of fire arced from his hand. Yet, to Stiles' disbelieving eyes, the fire just dispersed rapidly as it hits the golem.

 

“Spell resistance.” Stiles hissed.

 

Stiles saw a blur as Derek latched onto the large creature. Eyes flashing red, the werewolf slashed at the golem. The golem moved back from the bullrush. Derek bounced off from the golem out of the golem's reach. It still continued to advance. The movement was more stilted than before.

 

The golem slammed its fist at Derek next. Fortunately, it only caught Derek on the shoulder which snarled in response.

 

Stiles twisted mana into tendrils. Tendrils of magic emerged from the ground and start to curl around the golem. Soon, the golem's limbs was hindered by the magical bonds. Derek struck once again but missed it by a large margin.

 

Stiles heard a bang as he see Doctor Baker fired a shot towards Stiles. Stiles , in response, shifted a few feet away in an instant. Stiles redirected his attention to Baker. As he chants, smoke appeared around Baker. Baker started choking due to the noxious smile.

 

The golem gave a roar as it tried to break out of Stiles' bond. Yet, its movement continued to be stilted. With renewed vigor, Derek repeatedly used his claws to rend flesh from the creature. Soon, the creature gave a hoards roar as Derek pierced at its torso.

 

The threat of the golem over, Stiles disipated the wall of smoke, leaving a coughing Baker. Derek moved to Baker and cuffed him.


End file.
